The Boy I Hate

by Taylor Sullivan

  His mouth only lifted slightly, but his eyes remained fixed on the road ahead. “I don’t lie.” But he said the words as fact, as though he was talking about so much more than gas. He leaned over in his seat, practically in her lap, so close she could smell the soap on his skin. He pulled out a small brown bag from the glove box and handed it over. “See for yourself.”

  She grabbed hold of the sack, slightly out of breath from the brief touch, but somehow pulled out the contents and laid them on her lap. There was a small, crumpled up white receipt, and a pack of winter-mint gum. That was it. But her eyes instantly closed as a rush of memory washed over her body…because she was suddenly reminded of their kiss. About his breath on her face, and the delicate scent of winter-mint gum that would forever give her chills.

  “I filled up last night,” he said. “While you were sleeping.”

  She looked down at the receipt, finding the faded black writing revealing his truth.

  12.3 gallons, supreme unleaded, $32.87

  She shoved the receipt back in the bag and set it down between them. “This does nothing to comfort me.”

  He only shrugged, but didn’t explain further.

  “You’re telling me we’re driving three thousand miles in a car that has a broken gas gauge?”

  His shoulders lifted once, but he continued to focus straight ahead. “I’ve gotten us this far, haven’t I?”

  She turned in her seat, shoving the clay back in her bag, and taking out her iPod to load her next audio book. “That is such an asshole thing to say.”

  He almost choked on his coffee, which for some reason caused her lips to involuntary curve in a smile.

  “You’re right, I am an asshole.”

  His response was so unexpected, her grin instantly widened, but she tried to force it away. She wasn’t sure what she found so amusing. Maybe it was the fact she’d called him an asshole and all he did was agree, or maybe it was because it felt good to do something crazy—like drive cross country in a car with no gas meter. She glanced over at him one last time, eyes narrowed, but really looking at him, and seeing to her dismay the boy she’d met all those years ago by the lake. “Well I’m glad we can finally agree on something.”

  He choked back a laugh, covered his mouth as if trying to hold it in, but he couldn’t. A deep boisterous sound exploded out of him surprising them both. But he didn’t seem to be laughing at her, or even so much the gas meter. She wasn’t sure exactly what he was laughing at, but the sound was so genuine she found herself biting her lip to hold in a giggle of her own. He looked like a little kid. A giddy little boy who had had way too much sugar, and the sound was so contagious, soon she couldn’t help but laugh too. Their laughter grew, one feeding off the other until they were both struggling to breathe. It was the gut gripping kind of laugher that made her stomach hurt, one she hadn’t experienced in as long as she could remember. Laughing with Tristan made her feel free, like a twenty-three year old woman should feel… and that wasn’t a bad feeling at all.

  It was hours later, after the “Welcome to Colorado” sign had come and gone, that Tristan glanced over at her. Her feet were curled under her bottom, her head resting on the pillow she’d wedged between her door and body, trying to find comfort. She froze. It wasn’t the first time he’d done it either. Actually, he’d been doing it ever since they left the motel. Just looking, without saying a word, and it was driving her crazy. She’d already started her book three times because she couldn’t concentrate. What was he looking at? Why was he paying her any attention at all? The questions kept coming, and finally she gave up.

  Only yesterday, this arrangement had worked perfectly. She was able to listen to her audiobooks, and he the radio, as though they were in completely different worlds. But something had changed. Somewhere between her going to bed last night, and getting up this morning. She couldn’t stop her mind from flicking back the motel, to her cheek pressed against his skin, and his completely nude body millimeters from her own.

  “Soo…” he said, making her spine tingle all the way to her toes. “What have you been up to these past few years?”

  She lowered her blanket, trying to pretend the fact that he was trying to engage her in conversation didn’t surprise the hell out of her. She removed the ear buds from her ears and paused her book. “School. Work. That kind of thing.” She pushed her hair back behind her ears and sat up.

  “Where to?”

  She took a deep breath and shoved her iPod back in her bag, reluctantly thankful for something else to do. “I graduated from Laverne University last summer.”

  His brows rose. “And work?”

  “I work at a bar.” She cleared her throat, almost embarrassed by the answer. “And you?”

  He took a good minute, and Samantha turned back around to see if he’d heard the question. “How about you?” she repeated, but her eyes drifted down to his shoulder, where she knew the scar lay just under his clothes.

  “I run my own business,” he finally stated.

  “Doing?”

  “Cleaning pools.”

  She pressed her lips together and looked up to see if he was joking. “You’re a pool boy?”

  He glanced over again, clearly not finding the humor in the question. “Yes.”

  “Oh,” she whispered, but she was mentally kicking herself for being an ass. She couldn’t help it! Not really. All she kept thinking about was that movie with David Duchovny as a pizza boy. Where the word “anchovies” indicated an order for sex.

  She turned to study his profile, noticing he hadn’t shaved since yesterday. “So you’re a pool boy. What happened to football?” A lump formed in her stomach, but she had to ask the question. It had been bothering her all day. Killing her that she didn’t already know the answer.

  The Mustang lurched forward, and she gripped the bottom of her seat.

  “I got hurt,” he answered. It was curt and to the point, and so much different from the open demeanor he used when talking about anything else.

  She took a quick breath, because the confirmation made her heart hurt a little. “Oh…” she said. She wanted to ask more. To ask how it happened, to ask if his injury still bothered him. Because she knew all too well what it felt like to have a dream yanked from under you like that. But she adjusted in her seat instead, deciding it was much too personal a question to ask. “How did you get into your line of work?”

  His shoulders visibly relaxed, as if he’d been anticipating something different. He opened the pack of gum between them and slid a piece from its sleeve before folding it half and popping it into his mouth. “A year ago I was hanging out at a bar.” He cleared his throat, raising his brows an inch as though indicating he knew this wasn’t a surprise to her. “Some lady was complaining about her husband and their disgusting green pool. It all started from there.”

  She smiled, the scent of winter-mint gum making her shiver. “Go on.”

  “Well, people started joking around. And someone mentioned she should get a pool boy—one who was good looking enough to make her husband jealous. Some guy mentioned my name.” He fanned over his body sarcastically. “One thing led to another, and what started as a joke, quickly became my new career.”

  She raised her brows and turned to look out the window. “Oh.”

  “What?” he asked, obviously confused by her answer.

  She bit her bottom lip, hating the fact that she showed everything on her face.

  “You better tell me or I’ll assume the worst,” he muttered.

  She squeezed her eyes shut, took a stick of gum and popped it into her mouth. “Fine. I just realized that’s why you’re so tan.”

  He laughed. Something she hadn’t heard in a long time. But then he went sober, so much so she turned to see his expression. He wore the barest grin at the corner of his mouth, and he had a sultry look about him that made her heart skip a beat.

  “Glad to hear you’ve been paying attention, Samantha.”

  She hit his ch
est, not hard, but in a way that was playful. “Oh stop it.” She laughed. She adjusted in her seat, dragging her feet up to her lap to sit crisscross. “So you’re saying there’s no sex involved?”

  His chest began to shake again, and he shot her a “What the hell are you talking about?” expression. “No, there’s no sex. I don’t know what kind of pool boy you have, but I hope you tip him well.”

  She immediately blushed, then started laughing too. “Haven’t you seen that movie? About the pizza boy? And anchovies…”

  Her words trailed off, and she shook her head feeling embarrassed. But he must have taken pity, because he immediately started talking again. “Actually,” he said, cupping his hand over his face, trying to mask his laughter, “I don’t even clean pools anymore. I have a crew under me, so only when they’re sick do I go out on the field—which is why I’m able to be here with you. The tan is because I like to surf. Most of my job is paperwork, which surprisingly isn’t sexy at all.”

  She played with the paper wrapper between her fingers, grinning at the fact he was trying to make her feel better, and glanced down to her lap. “You’d be surprised.”

  “By what?” He turned to look at her. “You think paperwork is sexy?”

  “I don’t know…” She lifted her shoulders. “A man with brains…it’s not a bad thing.”

  He only grinned, as though some unspoken understanding had transpired between them. A small bud of tolerance had blossomed. It was tiny, and would likely blow away with a gentle breeze, but for that moment, she decided he wasn’t as bad as she’d thought. Maybe she could do this. It was only for a few more days, after all.

  Six years earlier

  Samantha lay on Renee’s bed, her head hanging over the side, causing her long blond hair to cascade to the floor. It was after school on the last day before fall break, and they’d both ditched, intending to find something better to do. But it was almost dinnertime, and they were still here, in Renee’s upstairs room, doing nothing.

  Renee stood in front of her closet mirrors, where she’d been practicing her turns for the last hour. She’d been chosen for the part of the Sugar Plum Fairy in the upcoming performance of the Nutcracker, and scouts were coming all the way from New York to watch her. She was nervous, but Samantha had no doubt she’d do great. Renee was the most graceful person Samantha had ever seen in her life. She was strong, athletic, and moved so easily it was as though it took no effort at all. Just like all the rest of the Montgomerys. Physically fit, totally beautiful, and kind… All except Tristan.

  “Where’s Steven?” Renee asked, pulling Samantha’s attention back to the mirrors. Renee was standing up on her toes, going up and down in releve so quickly it almost made Samantha sick.

  She pulled herself up to sit, then stretched her oversized sweater over her knees. “Palm Springs,” she answered. “He’s playing golf with his grandparents.”

  Renee prepped for another turn, then pushed off before answering. “Fun,” she said sarcastically.

  Samantha shrugged. “Yeah, well he’s probably having more fun than we are at the moment.” She paused to look in the mirror, pushed herself off the bed and grabbed her phone from the nightstand. She walked across the room googling the number for Vincenzo’s before turning around. “I’m hungry. Do you want to order pizza—” But before she could finish the question, the sound of Mrs. Montgomery’s scream caused the hair on the back of her neck to rise.

  “What the heck?” Renee yelled. She flung open her bedroom door and ran down the stairs, Samantha on her heels, running down after her friend. Her stomach felt like cement, her heart hammering in her chest.

  They stopped in their tracks at the entrance to the kitchen. Renee’s mom was still screaming, though now it was mixed with laughter and squeals—because Tristan Montgomery held her in his arms and was spinning her in circles.

  “Tristan Montgomery! You put me down right this instant! I mean it!” She hit him on the shoulder with her oven mitt, and he finally lowered her to the ground. His smile was so wide it was almost infectious. She quickly pulled him to her chest, throwing her arms around his neck and gripping him so hard you’d think he’d come back from the dead. “I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow,” she whispered. Her voice thick with emotion. “I thought you had a game tonight?”

  He grinned, then stepped backward and pointed to his walking boot. “I got an early ticket.”

  Mrs. Montgomery covered her mouth, pulling in a quick gasp before meeting his eyes again. “Tristan! What happened?”

  He only shrugged, then hobbled over to lean against the counter. “It’s football, Ma. These things happen.”

  It was odd being witness to this interaction. Because in all the time she’d spent with the Montgomerys, Samantha had never seen Mrs. M so emotional. She wasn’t crying, but she looked as though she was trying hard not to. Tristan had been hurt like this so many times it was impossible to keep track of. From the look on Mrs. M’s face. It was as though it had happened for the first time. Even from ten feet away, being there, watching this reunion between mother and son felt like an invasion of privacy. Witnessing a special bond that was only theirs to hold… But she couldn’t make herself look away.

  Mrs. Montgomery turned toward Renee and Samantha, who had gone unnoticed until this point, and pointed to Tristan’s leg. “And this is why I’ve always preferred ballet.”

  They all laughed, except for Samantha, because she was still in shock. This was her first time seeing Tristan in months, and for some reason, he looked different. The sight of him caused an ache in her chest to burn so painfully it was as though it had never stopped. She told herself it was because she was still angry, but it was an anger she’d never felt before. It made her chest tight and her stomach clench as though she was going to throw up.

  He turned to her, watching her as though he’d lost something in her face. Searching her eyes, without the barest apology. It was odd. She’d looked people in the eye before, but never once had she felt so naked. Because he seemed to look deeper than everyone else, everyone combined, and she turned away, sure everyone could read their history on her face. But Tristan carried on as though none of what she’d experienced affected him at all.

  “Sis,” he said, resting his back on the counter.

  Renee grinned, then pushed off her spot in the doorway and walked toward him. “Can’t you walk into a room like a normal person? Do you always have to cause such a scene?”

  He grinned and came toward her, hobbling forward before pulling her into a hug. “Normal’s overrated,” he stated. He threw his arm over her shoulder and looked toward Samantha.

  She tried to keep herself under control, taking deep breaths and smoothing her hair behind her ears. Renee told him about her upcoming performance. About the scouts, and New York, and her big role in The Nutcracker. There was actually a smile in her voice as she spoke to him, as though she had missed him as much as her mom did. And Tristan—he listened to all of it. Saying how proud he was, how he’d come back to watch her no matter what the cost.

  He told them all about his injury, about it being one of the many trade-offs for being the quarterback of a team. But when the conversation dwindled, he leaned against the counter and glanced between Samantha and Renee. “Any parties tonight?” he asked.

  It was the first he’d spoken to her since he’d gotten there, and for some reason she couldn’t answer. Cotton had filled her throat, making it impossible to speak. Renee eyed her with an odd expression, then elbowed Tristan in the rips. “Like I want my big brother tagging along with me,” she scoffed.

  He only laughed, as if her elbow had gone unnoticed—but then he moved toward her, like a cat about to pounce. “Oh yeah?” he asked. “You don’t want your big brother tagging along?” He took her head under his arm and started rubbing his knuckles back and forth against her skull. “What’s the big secret, Nay? What are you doing that you don’t want your brother seeing?”

  “Tristan!” She screamed,
punching in him the gut while laughing at the same time. They circled each other, gripped together in some sort of double headlock move, until Mrs. Montgomery finally had enough.

  “Tristan, let her go!” she shouted.

  But Samantha only stood there, watching her best friend play fight with her big brother—in a way she’d never seen before.

  They both finally stopped, pulling quickly apart, though Tristan had to ruffle Renee’s hair before letting her go. “Good to know you can defend yourself, sis.” He laughed.

  “Good to see college hasn’t made you grow up.”

  He winked at her, grinning ear to ear. “Never.”

  Renee’s mom leaned against the counter, watching her two almost grown children banter like politicians, but there were tears in her eyes. “You kids aren’t going anywhere tonight!” she stated. “I just got you back, and we’re going out to dinner to celebrate. Now go get ready!” she ordered. “Your dad’s working late again; you kids aren’t leaving me alone.”

  She turned to Samantha, her voice softening a bit more. “Call your parents, dear. See if you can join us.”

  Samantha only shook her head, tucked her hair behind her ear, and looked down to her feet. “No, I really couldn’t—I don’t want to intrude.”

  “Nonsense, dear.” Mrs. Montgomery said, then picked up the phone and started dialing. “I’ll call them. You go get ready.”

  Samantha swallowed, unable to look Tristan in the eyes as she passed him in the hall. She followed Renee up the stairs, her back straight as she started climbing. She told herself not to look back, even though she desperately wanted to. To see if he was watching her. To see if five months without seeing her was enough to erase their past. To erase the one night she thought about daily. And she didn’t stop until she entered Renee’s room and closed the door, realizing that for some reason, her heart hurt worse seeing him now than it had the night they came home from the lake.

  13

  Chapter Thirteen